


I Want You To Want Me

by WincestOTP



Category: Supernatural
Genre: First Time, M/M, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-04
Updated: 2015-09-04
Packaged: 2018-04-18 23:41:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4724555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WincestOTP/pseuds/WincestOTP
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the prompt “Sam or Dean gains the ability to read his brother’s mind, and finds out they’ve wanted the same thing all along.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Want You To Want Me

The first time it happens Dean nearly runs them off the road. Sam’s curled up in the passenger’s seat, head against the window, smiling softly at whatever he’s dreaming about. And Dean can see it. He and Sam are lying on a blanket under the stars, like they used to do when they were kids. Only this time, when they see a shooting star, Sam smiles and says “My turn.” Dean watches as Sam kisses him hungrily, can actually feel Sam’s lips press sweetly against his-

The sharp swerve startles them both. Sam wakes abruptly and the dream—vision—whatever disappears.

“Dean?” Sam says, coming fully awake in an instant. “What’s wrong?”

“Gotta piss,” Dean says gruffly, pulling the Impala onto the shoulder. He’s out of the car in a second, stumbling toward a small stand of trees a short ways off from the road as he tries to clear his head.

Get a grip, he tells himself sternly. He’s your brother, for God’s sake. He gives himself a few minutes to shake off the vision before trudging back to the car. He can feel Sam’s eyes on him the whole way back to the car, but he ignores Sam’s obvious concern in favor of just getting back on the road.

An hour later it happens again. All out of Love starts playing on the radio, and Sam laughs softly. Dean turns to him with a smile, fully prepared to mock the song with him, but before he can open his mouth, Sam’s hand slides up his thigh and every thought in Dean’s head except oh, God yes just disappears.

“Sam, what—“ he manages weakly but then Sam’s lips are fastened to sensitive spot right below his jaw and all he can do is moan helplessly. The illusion disappears as abruptly as it started, leaving Dean hard and aching. He turns to stare at Sam, who’s looking fixedly out the window, seemingly unaware that his brother is having some sort of nervous breakdown.

It only gets worse after that. Dean has daydreamed about Sam for years, accepting that his fucked up psyche had perverted the love he has for his brother into something dirty and wrong. It’s just one more thing he figures he’ll pay for, eventually, but until now he’s always been able to control it. Now, it’s constant, one fantasy after another—Sam in his bed, holding him down, fucking into him slowly until he’s begging for harder, Sam faster oh God please, Sam’s arm around his waist, lips pressed gently to Dean’s temple, Sam with him in the shower, Dean carefully washing his hair and massaging Sam’s scalp while Sam moans with pleasure, Sam on his knees, Dean’s hands in his hair as Dean fucks his mouth. Dean can’t get away from it, can’t seem to control himself, and it’s driving him slowly insane.

Worst of all, Sam’s starting to realize something is wrong. Dean can’t let himself touch Sam, even casually, and he can tell Sam has noticed. His brother isn’t pulling away, though—Sam seems determined to make up for Dean’s unwillingness to touch him by being in Dean’s space 24/7.

“For fuck’s sake, Sam, will you stop hovering?” Dean snaps, hands clenched tight on the edge of the sink. Sam recoils from the frustration in Dean’s voice, but he doesn’t move away.

“You’re cut pretty badly, Dean,” he says reasonably instead, just a touch of hurt bleeding into his voice. “I just want to get the blood off your face so I can see if you need stitches.”

Dean gets a quick flash of Sam’s hands on his face, carefully wiping away the blood dripping into his eye before Sam leans in for a kiss. It’s gentle and soothing, and Dean aches with how much he wants it. He grips the cold porcelain so hard it hurts, terrified that if he lets go for even a second he’ll lose control and take what he wants.

“Sam—“ he whispers, voice cracking just a little. “Sam, I don’t know what’s happening to me.”

He stares fixedly at the wall reflected in the mirror, not thinking about what he just said, about what he’s doing and how he’s screwing everything to hell and back. He just knows he can’t go on like this.

“Dean?” The alarm in Sam’s voice triggers every guilt sensor Dean has, but Dean does his best to ignore the relentless take care of Sammy that’s beating in the back of his head. “Dean, what’s going on? You’re really starting to scare me, man.”

“I don’t know,” Dean admits. He doesn’t look at Sam. “But I think maybe I need to be on my own for awhile. Something…something’s happening to me and I can’t control it. I don’t think it’s safe for you to be around me right now.”

The silence is deafening. Dean wants to start over, wants to take it back but the truth is he’s going to break if this keeps up, and he’d rather have Sam hate him for pushing him away than for showing himself as the sick, twisted freak he knows he is.

“Dean.” Sam’s voice is small, defeated. “Dean, don’t say things like that. We both know you would never hurt me.” Dean feels the warmth of Sam’s body in a long line next to his as Sam moves even closer and he wants to close his eyes, just sink into that warmth and never leave.

“You don’t know what I would do, Sammy,” Dean says hoarsely. He doesn’t want to say it, he doesn’t want to bring his sickness into the light, but he has to make Sam understand. Sam deserves to know so he can be safe. “You can’t even imagine the things I want to do.”

“If there’s something wrong we’ll work on it together,” Sam says firmly. “I’m not leaving you to deal with this—whatever this is–alone.” He puts his hands on Dean’s shoulders, gently urging him to turn around, and Dean gets another flash—Sam turning him around, pressing him against the sink and kissing him until neither of them can breathe, until Dean forgets this insanity of running away. Dean lifts his head slowly and meets Sam’s eyes in the mirror. There’s only one way to convince Sam, he realizes. And at least he’ll have this memory to keep after Sam leaves.

Dean gives into the pressure of Sam’s hands and turns to face his brother. He can feel Sam’s breath against his face, and he can’t quite grasp the enormity of what he’s about to do, of everything he’s giving up. “Goodbye, Sam,” he whispers, and presses his lips firmly against Sam’s mouth.

For a long moment nothing happens, just the feel of his mouth against Sam’s, warm and soft. Dean savors the feeling, guiltily tucks it away—roughness where Sam’s lower lip is slightly chapped, the way his own lips give as he pushes in harder, the hard slickness of Sam’s teeth as Dean licks into Sam’s mouth, leaving no doubt as to his intentions.

Then Sam jerks away and the world swims back into focus. The shock on Sam’s face stirs a sick sense of satisfaction in Dean’s heart—finally, Sam understands, he thinks dully. He doesn’t know what to expect next—a punch, a shout, maybe nothing but hurt silence as Sam storms out of the motel room and into the night.

It’s definitely not for Sam to breathe his name with a reverence bordering on awe and kiss him back.

Dean assumes it’s another hallucination again, but at the same time he knows it’s not. Everything is sharp and messy—Sam’s breath is kind of rank, the edge of the sink is digging uncomfortably into his back, and his head fucking hurts in a way it never does in his visions. Nothing makes any sense, nothing feels right except for Sam’s mouth on his, and he just gives in, again, just goes with it. He kisses Sam with everything in him, every pent up dream, every frantic urge. Sam’s hands leave his shoulders to cup his face, angling him just right, and Dean just holds on, not even aware of when his hands locked onto Sam’s hips, burrowing their way under layer after layer to find soft, warm skin.

Sam groans into his mouth at the contact, hips pushing forward against Dean and oh God that feels so good. Dean drags him closer, grinding against him, and even through layers of denim it amazing.

“Sam,” he gasps raggedly. “Sam, Sammy, stop, please, we have to—“

Sam pulls back slowly, reluctantly. “Don’t want to stop,” he says, breathing hard. He rolls his hips into Dean, eyes slipping closed briefly. “I’ve thought about this so many times,” he whispers. “You have no idea, no clue how long I’ve wanted this.” He presses his forehead against Dean’s, thumbs tracing Dean’s cheekbones. “I think about you all the time,” he admits. “Sometimes it’s all I can do not to just lean over and kiss you.”

Dean shivers under the gentle touch. “I…Sammy, I’ve been having these dreams. Visions, hallucinations, whatever you want to call them.” He licks his lips, heat flushing through him as Sam tracks the movement. “All about you. And me. Doing…” Dean trails off as Sam’s face clouds over.

“Oh my God,” Sam whispers. He steps away from Dean, breaking contact completely. “I’m so sorry, Dean,” he says, pressing himself against the wall. “I had no idea. That job, in Montana last month…I should have told you.”

Dean frowns. “Told me what, Sam—“ He stops as realization sinks in. “That’s when my visions started. What happened, Sammy? What did you do?” He tries to keep his voice level but he’s not sure he succeeds when Sam’s face crumples.

“There was a talisman,” Sam says miserably. “I touched it when we were clearing out the altar and I felt…something, I didn’t know what, but nothing seemed to happen so I didn’t think anything of it.” He stops, biting his lip, unable to meet Dean’s eyes. “I did some research and all I could find was that it was some sort of wish granting spell, but it obviously didn’t work since my wish wasn’t coming true so I forgot about it. I’m so sorry, Dean. I didn’t mean to force any of this on you, I swear I didn’t. I never would have done that to you.”

Dean laughs, feeling a little giddy. “Are you saying…do you mean—you’ve felt like this all along? You’ve been thinking about this and wanting this and I’ve been picking up on your daydreams?”

Sam nods hesitantly, still clearly miserable. “Maybe? It’s a weird way of granting a wish, but what in our lives isn’t weird?” He looks at Dean, tears starting in his eyes. “I’ve wanted you since I was 15,” he admits. “I know it’s fucked up and wrong, but I can’t help it.”

“Jesus, Sam.” Dean can’t believe what he’s hearing. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve…” Dean shakes his head. “It is wrong and fucked up. I’m your big brother, it’s my job to protect you.” He pulls in a deep breath, rubs the back of his neck. “I’m the one who should be apologizing here, not you. But I’m not going to. No matter when this started, we’re both consenting adults now, and no one forced anything on anyone.”

Sam just stares at him in disbelief. “Dean, I practically raped you.” He looks away, blood creeping up his throat and over his cheeks. “I know what I’ve been thinking about, and it wasn’t exactly PG.”

Dean can’t help smirking just a little at that. “Oh, believe me, I know exactly what you’ve been thinking about.” He tilts his head and lets his eyes drift down then back up, challenging. “Not quite sure I believe it was all 100% accurate, though. Seems to me there had to be at least a little wishful thinking going on.”

Sam steps forward hesitantly, reaching out to put his hand on Dean’s chest as though he can’t quite believe this is happening. “Is this real?” he asks bluntly. “There’s no take backs here, Dean.” His voice catches. “If you’re just teasing, if you’re going to leave in the morning, just…please. Don’t.”

Dean sobers instantly, all teasing gone. “Sam. I don’t know what happened or why it worked out this way, but believe me when I say that is real.” He steps into Sam’s space, scarcely an inch between them. “I thought it was just me, that I was alone in this. Knowing that I’m not, that you’re just as fucked up as me…I’m not sure happy is what I should be feeling but it’s true. I’d take it back if I could, give you normal and safe, but since I can’t? Since we’re stuck in this together? Then I want to be in all the way.” He gives Sam a lopsided smile. “No half measures for Winchesters,” he says, tangling his hand in Sam’s hair to tug him down into a kiss. Sam opens for him easily, as though they’ve done this a thousand times before—which, Dean supposes, in a way they have.

“Come on,” Dean whispers when they pull apart for air. “I think you’ve got some promises to make good on.”


End file.
